


I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief

by sumhowe_sailing



Series: rafflesweek2018 [4]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 13:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/sumhowe_sailing
Summary: For the prompt "Raffles"





	I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief

It was a particularly bright winter morning when I asked Raffles to accompany me on a short walk. The weather had been so dreary the past few weeks, I was eager to take advantage of the brief respite. Yet his mood seemed, if anything, worsened by the sunny weather. He was only a little more snappish than was his wont, but he exuded an unnameable sadness that forced me to forgive him. I abandoned my walk to stay with him. He scorned my efforts to get him to speak with me, so at length I contented myself with taking up a book and settling my chair just at the edge of his vision. He could brood if he liked, but he must know I would be there for him if he wanted me.

For several hours he did nothing but stare out the little window. At length—great length—he sighed.

“Alright, Bunny.”  
“Mmm?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been waiting so patiently to say, I’ll hear it now.”

“That’s very generous of you; I am sorry to disappoint.”

“How’s that?”

“I didn’t have anything to say. I was simply wiling away the afternoon.”

“What have you been up to all this time then?”

“I might well ask you the same.”

“Only strolling through the withered fields of memory.”

“Come now,” I chided, “surely your fields must be riddled with the most gorgeous flowers.”

“Once, perhaps,” he sighed again. “But in this winter of discontent, there are none left to sweeten the air.”

“They’ll bloom again soon enough.”

“I’m afraid I’ve made the soil rather too inhospitable for any such delicate things.”

“Life finds a way, Raffles. If you’ve ever taught me anything, it’s that.”

For the first time all day, the shadow of a smile graced his features. He allowed the silence to settle between us only for a moment before asking again how I had spent my afternoon.

“Oh, reading this and that.”

“Anything good?”

“Well, yes.”

“Must I ask? What was it?”

“I came across a sonnet that—well, it rather reminded me of…of you. Of us.”

“A sonnet?” A hint of life crept back into his voice as he lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes. One of Shakespeare’s.”

“Read it to me, won’t you?”

“Ah, yes, just—just let me,” I trailed off as I began searching back through the pages. I had dwelt over that sonnet for some time—had even thought of interrupting him to read it to him an hour ago, though I’d decided against it—and then promptly lost its page. He waited patiently until I finally found it again.

 

_Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;_

_What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?_

_No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;_

_All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more._

_Then, if for my love, thou my love receives,_

_I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;_

_But yet be blam’d, if thou thy self deceives_

_By willful taste of what thyself refusest._

_I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,_

_Although thou steal thee all my poverty:_

_And yet, love knows it is a greater grief_

_To bear love’s wrong, than hate’s known injury._

_Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,_

_Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes._

It wasn’t until I had finished reading it aloud and caught sight of the mingled sorrow and smile on his features that I realized how painfully the poem might tally with the remembrances that had occupied him all day. I hurriedly set the book aside and moved near him to take his hand.

“A.J. I’m sorry—“

“No, my rabbit, you mustn’t be.”

“I didn’t mean for it to upset you. I only meant—“

“I know, dear, I know. Thank you.” Then he squeezed my hand and rose at last to his feet. He stretched a moment before taking my hand again. “Come, Bunny, I do hope it’s not too late for that walk?”


End file.
